


Just Off The Key of Reason

by Gosarah15



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Suicide, btw most likely not a real relationship, kinda over fake news ships, probably just a bromance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:22:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gosarah15/pseuds/Gosarah15
Summary: Hi, sorry, but I haven't exactly figured out the direction I'll be taking this fic, so please be patient with me.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Suicide trigger

I sit silently in the bathtub that’s already half full of warm water. This is my foolproof plan, and yet my hands are still shaking with nerves. I’ve been planning this out for nearly a year and I know I’m ready, but I can’t help but doubt my abilities to go through with it. I’ve never been very good around blood, which I still find very ironic. 

 

I take a couple deep breaths before grabbing the small box sitting on the edge of the tub. The top slides off easily, the contents of the box shining slightly in the light of the empty bathroom. I pick up the sharp piece of metal and inspect it between my fingers. It’s dull from use, but still sharp enough to perform its final duty. 

 

My hands start shaking again. I’m overthinking it again.  _ Deep breaths, Pete. You’re ready. Remember, if you wait any longer, your step-dad could come home and find you. You know what’ll happen if he finds you.  _ I grip the side of the bathtub as I prep myself. I glance at my chest and arms. Disgusting bruises litter my body,  _ courtesy of the man that replaced Dad.  _ I know I can’t stay in this world any longer, let alone this household.  _ I’m ready. _

 

I hold the blade to my left wrist. I take one more breath and press down lightly. The metal digs into my arm perpendicular to my veins. The blade dances across my bruised skin, leaving behind red lines. I don’t bleed at first, and panic jumps into my throat. Suddenly, red comes pouring out of the deep cuts, slow at first, but the flow increases once I put my arms into the now tepid water. Everything becomes hazy as the bath water turns from a light shade of pink to a deep red. 

 

No pain is felt. If I were to say that I feel anything, it would be a lie. I’ve grown up learning what real pain felt like. This is merely a faint 1.5 on the 1-10 scale. I’ve had my share of beatings. I know what a 10 feels like.

 

In the distance, I can hear “Hallelujah” echoing in my head. It could be playing from outside the bathroom. Or maybe not. Everything starts to fade away, slowly, and then all at once. The world around me goes dark.

  
“ _ It’s not a cry that you hear and night, and it’s not somebody who’s seen the light… _ ” 


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say to anyone that's reading this that I'm not writing this for you guys. I have other works written with whatever you guys want to happen in them. This one's for myself. Feel free to read it, but I legit am just writing whatever comes to mind.

I wake up, the light blinding me, my eyes not yet adjusted to the change in brightness. I am about to rub my eyes when I realize that I’m not dead. Guilt overwhelms me, and I bury my head in my hands, letting out a sob.  _ I failed.  _ But all of a sudden, I notice something strange. The bathwater. It’s clear. My eyes widen. Panicked, I yank up my sleeves to see fresh, uncut wrists.  _ What happened, when did I even get dressed,  _ I think to myself. Quickly, I get out of the bathtub, pulling off my shirt. To my surprize, all of the scars were gone. Gone.

 

_ This can’t be happening, this can’t be… _ I start pacing, my brain flooded with possible, yet impossible explanations.  _ I just, I gotta get out of here.  _ I pull on my shirt, which is shockingly dry now, and go into my room to grab a pair of shoes and a jacket. Not really caring what I look like, I grab a leather jacket and a hoodie (just in case it’s still fucking cold in the Chicago winter), and pull on a tattered pair of Converse. 

 

I’m just a couple steps off of the sidewalk when I hear a car. I turn my head, just a little too slowly, as a teen in the car is slamming on the brakes of a black hatchback. The car stops a mere three inches away from me. The teen, a frazzled strawberry blonde with the bluest eyes I have ever seen, gets out of the car, a look of panic on his face.

 

“Geez, dude. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

 

I open my mouth to say something, but I’m still too shocked from the past few minutes to come up with any arrangement of words. The teen, looks about 16 or so, is staring at me, blue eyes hiding behind his thick-framed glasses widened. Instead, I turn my attention to his outfit. He’s in an exceptionally large hoodie that’s nearly wearing him, skinny jeans that probably have to be cut off him, and the oddest little trucker hat. I close my mouth, suddenly aware of how stupid I look.

 

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” I finally muster out. 

 

“Oh,” he says back. “Then WHAT THE HECK WERE YOU DOING???”

 

I’m taken aback by the sudden explosion. “W-what?” I see now that he’s gone from worried to angry in seconds flat.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you  _ trying  _ to get yourself killed?”

 

My gaze falls to the ground. A hand instinctively wraps around one of my wrists, scratching at it slightly. I think he senses my guilt too, because he stops suddenly.

 

“Oh. Sorry, bad choice of words.”

 

I look back up at him, he’s looking away too. His left hand is rubbing the back of his neck, his right hand, shoved into his pocket.

 

“Hey, let me make it up to you. Can I buy you lunch?”

 

He looks back up at me, his eyes brightened, a small smile on his face.

 

_ Geez, what’s wrong with this kid? Angry one moment, and nice the next? What’ve I gotten myself into? _

 

I shrug, and the boy smiles. He opens the passenger door for me, and, for some crazy unknown reason, I get in. He starts driving, his eyes focused on the road. We don’t speak to each other, which gives me time to study this kid sitting next to me.

 

He’s a pretty lean kid, but there’s obvious hints of a past where he wasn’t happy with his weight. I can tell by the extra-large shirts (and the diet pills in the back of his car). In the backseat, there’s a pair of drumsticks and a guitar case that’s strapped in with the seatbelt, as if it’s a child that’s prone to sticking its head out the window or jumping around. So obviously he’s into music. That’s a given. There are a bunch of cd’s sticking out of the glove compartment, and I catch a glimpse of Bowie, Michael Jackson, and a couple R&B singers, as well as a handful of punk rock bands. My brain immediately thinks of my own record collection on my shelf in my bedroom, my custom made bass, and my notebooks of one-liner lyrics.

 

This kid is more like me than any other person I’ve ever met before.  _ There must be something screwed up with him too, then,  _ my brain shouts at me, but I ignore it. I’m already dying to be him instead of myself.

 

He boy glances at me quickly, noticing me staring at him. He shifts uncomfortably, and I turn my attention to the shops passing by outside the window. 

 

“Patrick,” he says, breaking the silence. “My name is Patrick.”

 

I smile to myself. I whisper it to myself, savoring the name on my tongue and lips.

 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Pete.”

 

He smiles back at me, his eyes sparkling behind his frames. I would die for his life and looks.

 

_ “Trade baby blues for wide eyed browns…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G.I.N.A.S.F.S. is such a good song :))))


	3. Part 2

We sit in the booth, both of us completely silent. Since we’ve told each other our names, we really haven’t said much, but I have noticed how Patrick would sneak a couple glances at me. And the hardest part of knowing that someone is looking at you is pretending not to notice them noticing you. I was tempted to say something, but he seemed near entranced by me, which I’ve never seen before, so I decided to leave him to do what he wants.

 

Nobody comes to take our orders. The diner is near empty. It’s really just the two of us, so I wonder why we’re even sitting in the booth furthest away from the door. We’re facing each other, the window letting a sliver of light dance across Patrick’s face. He just sits there, unmoving, studying the kid sitting in front of him: me. His elbows are resting on the table, his chin held up my his right hand.

 

I can’t help but stare back at him, but I try to be less obvious about it, my head turned ever so slightly towards the opposite corner of the room, pretending to study the room. Every other minute, I glance back at him, and he blushes, but doesn’t take his piercing blue eyes off me. I can feel my own face heating up the longer he studies me, so I decide to say something.

 

“S-so, where are the waiters around here?”

 

He gives me a puzzled look. “You’re kidding, right?”

 

I shake me head a little, but I keep my head more or less in the same place, as if worried that I’ll mess up this painting Patrick seems to be creating in his brain. “No, like, where is everybody?”

 

“So how’d you get here,” he asks, completely ignoring my question.

 

I’m so confused by this, as we  _ literally _ got here an hour together, him being the one who drove the two of us. “Um, you almost ran me over and then decided to buy me lunch?”

 

His eyes crinkle slightly.  _ He’s laughing at me. _ “No, I mean, how’d you get  _ here _ ?”

 

This kid isn’t making any sense.  _ Does he mean Chicago? Everyone knows that nobody ever asks about someone’s history before getting to Chicago.  _ “Um, y’know, I made some mistakes and decided that I needed a new start.”

 

Patrick nods. “I get it. I felt the same way. But now I’m here and I couldn’t be happier. I’ve made more friends here than I ever did anywhere else.”

 

I chuckle at his response. “But aren’t these fuckers just as messed up as us?”

 

“I guess, but at least there are people who know what we’ve been through and can agree with you about how messed up this world is.” I nod, almost like I really understand.

 

Patrick’s eyes turn their gaze out the window. I follow his gaze to see another car pulling up into the parking space next to his own car. Two boys get out, one with a shocking amount of colorful tattoos, and the other with longish curly hair. They amble into the diner, eyeing me down when they notice me. Well, I assumed they were eyeing me down. They were both wearing sunglasses, despite the fact that is was so cloudy, it was near-raining.

 

“Yo, Stump. What’s with the new kid?” The tattooed guy standing next to the one who asked the question crosses his arms.

 

Patrick slumps down a little in his seat. He looks a little annoyed, like they were crashing a date of something, but, nevertheless, he moved over so the curly haired teen could sit down. I decide that since Patrick can trust them, so can I. I move over as well.

 

“Joe, Andy, this is Pete.”

 

Joe peers over his sunglasses at me from over on the other side of the booth. Andy, the one sitting next to me, takes off his sunglasses. They both look super serious for a solid minute, but then suddenly break into grins.

 

“Nice to meet you, Pete,” Joe says.

 

“Yeah,” Andy mutters.

 

I look from Andy to Joe to Patrick. “So… What, are you guys all just friends then?”

 

“Well, duh,” Joe says, fiddling with a napkin. “Y’know, there aren’t a lot of us around here.”

 

“Um, I think you are mistaken,” I mumble. “Chicago is huge. There are a ton of teens living here.”

 

They all give me a questioning look.

 

“You’re kidding, right?” Andy says this rather loudly, startling me, as I thought he was going to be the quiet one.

 

Patrick’s face changes immediately from confusion to realization. “Come on, guys, let’s get out of here. Let’s show Pete how much fun he’ll have being our friend.”

 

_ I'm coming apart at the seams, pitching myself for leads in other people's dreams. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys enjoying this fic? Idk if anyone's reading this one or not.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any suggestions for the plot, please let me know.


End file.
